The landscape of Lushoto was incredible! It was Hollywood scenery: hobbit land. Lord of the Rings meets Jurassic park. Unlike anywhere else I had visited in Tanzania. Perhaps it was the rolling hills and cool elevation which gave it a particular indescribable character. Or maybe it was the cool vibe of subsistence farmers, far from the big city, living off the land. People were friendly, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. The biodiversity was shaggy and unkept in a way that only exists when lowland tropical jungle meets high elevation mountains. The area was consistently and vibrantly GREEN which is not common in all areas of Tanzania. The vistas seemed endless: Indigenous villages, grazing cattle, gratuitous waterfalls, perfectly placed boulders, cliffs, bluffs, mountains and rolling hills. I want to refer to this region as the African alps, even though that may be an unfair or unreal comparison. It may be the best I’ve got.
The bus ride from Moshi to Lushoto was approximately 10 hours. A hot packed bus. No air conditioning. Minimal bathroom breaks. My friend and tour guide Antonia escorted me to the bus station in Moshi and helped me find the correct bus. Just like every other bus station I have ever encountered in other developing countries, this one was WILD! Bus stations like this one will offer you enough excitement to last you a week. They are filthy, loud, energetic, congested and, in an odd way, beautiful. They are alive! Here you’ll find all varieties of street vendors with loud auditory voices hawking and peddling all things imaginable. Short-order cooks and auctioneers barking, singing and calling out their offerings. Some attempt to get your attention in such melodic and convincing tones that I was certain I required one of each: clothing, sunglasses, jewelry, shoes, beverages, random trinkets, souvenirs, coffee and even animals. Exciting, fascinating and exhausting. This is why I love to travel!
Whenever you step off of a bus in a new city in Tanzania you are greeted by the same chaos and excitement described above. You will usually be approached immediately by 10-20 gentleman aggressively trying to get you to accept their invitation for a transport: “Taxi? Motorbike? Tuk tuk?”. The more you say “No” or the more you ignore them, the more aggressive and assertive them become. As I exited the bus in Lushoto, my experience was no different, however the first person to approach me was a smiley doe-eyed tour guide by the name of Samuel. He was genuine, soft, sincere and friendly. He kept making attempts to show me his ID card. As I tried to fight through the crowd of taxi drivers and fellas trying to carry my backpack for me, Samuel walked along side me and tried explained what tours he could offer. He was impossible not to like and it felt impossible not to purchase one of his tours. I told him that if he could help me find an affordable place to stay and a cup of coffee, I would happily sit with him and hear about the tours he offered. 15 minutes later, my backpack was safely at a local guesthouse, I was sipping a cup of black Tanzanian coffee and Samuel had a new client for the following day. Tomorrow we would trek the Usamabar Mountains.
The hike started out walking through the backroads of the local village. I met Samuel’s friends and had traditional coffee with the traditional mountain barista. I try to never take photos of people without their permission, and when I asked these gentlemen if I could snap a photo, they jumped up and enthusiastically posed immediately. I met many backpackers who choose to hike this mountain range on their own and, as a result, not to hire a guide. This is the type of experience they missed out on. In fact, I would have happily paid the entire price for Samuel’s tour if it only meant I got to sit and have coffee with these distinguished and interesting gentlemen.
An additional benefit of utilizing Samuel’s services was I had yet another Swahili teacher and received a day’s worth of language lessons. Swahili is so fun to speak and listen to! It is the language of perpetual laughter and enthusiasm. Someone could be saying degrading and sexually impossible things about my own mother, but it would sound like they were trying to tell me a memorable and giggle worthy joke. It is a language which sounds like you’re laughing at the same time as you are talking. Like the tone of voice you might carry when telling a close friend, “You should have seen your face when I caught you in the porto-potty with that sailor!” Swahili sounds warm and cheerful like someone is giving you an ear hug.
Hakuna Matata: “No worries.” (Yup, they really say this. All of the time!)
Pole pole: “Slowly slowly” (The equivalent of American “Take it easy”)
Jambo Poa: “Hello!” (Casual and informal like, “What’s up!”)
Mambo ni moto: “It’s a HOT blazing fire!” (Sorta like, “It’s AWESOME!)
Rafiki yangu: “My friend!” (Like “Hey Bro!”)
It is important to note that when traveling, if a kind stranger offers to teach you the new language and “Google Translate” is not at your immediate disposal, you may be misdirected, in the funniest of ways. What they may have taught you meant “Hello my friend, where is the bathroom?”, probably directly translates to, “My mother is a water buffalo and I have three testicles”. You can never be mad about this. It is all part of being digested through the international linguistic food chain. Samuel was my third Swahili teacher on this trip and I am sure he slipped in something incorrect for the sake of comic relief and, truthfully, I am 100% OK with this.
Our mountain trek brought us through shared growing plots where the unkept jungle co-mingled with people’s individual farming plots. We walked up hills and descended into valleys. At times we were casually meandering along ridges where the slightest slip-up would have meant tumbling to certain death. Samuel brought me to a waterfall where I snapped photos and videos with breathless excitement. I then explained to Samuel that I was currently writing a waterfall hiking guide back in Wisconsin.
As we ascended in elevation the dirt roads turned to red clay. We passed through small villages where goats looked at me unenthusiastically and small children yelled “MZUNGU!” (Whiteboy!!!). People’s homes were beautiful domiciles made of red brick style of natural construction with palm thatched roofs. Everyone waved and everyone warmly smiled. This was consistent with the majority of places I visited in Tanzania. I always received a friendly greeting. I never walked passed anyone on the street who didn’t pause briefly and say, “Jambo!” (Hello!).
We stopped for lunch at a local farm called Irente Farm and Biodiversity Reserve. This was a fully functioning farm, lodge and restaurant which served a delicious and extravagant lunch comprised of juice, coffee, bread, butter, fruit, jams and cheese – all of which was grown and/or made right there on the farm. We enjoyed this magnificent lunch while looking out over an incredible view.
Something struck me as odd about this experience though. As we descended a hill, entering the farm’s property, we passed multiple school buildings. I heard many small voices yelling, “Hello! Hello! Where are you going?” as African children with faces as white as bakers flour came running outside to greet us. White skin and white hair, but with facial features typical of the African continent. This was the Irente School for the Blind and the cheerful students running out to greet me were a part of their contingent of students with a genetic disorder called albinism. People with albinism have a decreased production (or none at all) of a pigment called melanin, resulting in very white skin. They also typically suffer from eye conditions and are extremely sensitive to the sun. It turns out that in many countries in sub-Africa the challenges associated with albinism goes WAY beyond pale skin and potential sunburn. In fact, I was informed that the children with albinism often times don’t attend school because it is too dangerous. Many children with albinism must live in boarding schools with secure walls and armed guards if they want to get an education…WTF?
Here is what I learned:
Life in general is difficult for people in Africa with albinism. Aside from being visually impaired and having an insanely high risk of skin cancer, they are victim of ruthless teasing in school. Their poor vision often times condemns them to academic failure. In Tanzania it is reported that only 10% of them go on to access Secondary Education. Children with albinism are often abandoned by their parents and many women are rejected by their husbands when they give birth to a baby with albinism. Wait…it gets worse.
The reason the children need secure walls and armed guards is because in many African countries, children with albinism face attacks and even ritual killings. This happens because there is a superstitious belief that their body parts possess magical powers. As a result, children with albinism are mutilated by attackers and their body parts are sold on the black market: $2,200 for a limb, $77,000 for the full body. The people in possession of these body parts are under the erroneous and ridiculous impression that wealth and fortune will come to them (It doesn’t make the rabbit foot key chains of the 1980s seem so bad anymore). The simple act of leaving the house and going to school can expose these vulnerable children to life-threatening dangers, so families and orphanages try to keep them indoors and safe at all costs. On multiple occasions armed attackers have even entered schools in efforts to collect body parts. The situation has gotten so bad that the UN became involved in order to make schools safer in Africa for these students.
I can’t even begin to describe the wave of emotions I experienced when learning about this. I wanted to cry. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to slowly and publicly torture any human being willing to mutilate a child for financial gain (or any reason for that matter!). It’s dark hours of the soul such as this that I realize I am a member of the same flawed species, and no better than anyone else – even the monsters willing to invade a school and cut off an innocent child’s appendage.
Travel has always given me the gift of perspective and human stories are powerful. The next time I am having a bad day, experiencing an episode of sadness -or experiencing anything that could be described on the spectrum of human misery or self-loathing- I will remember the story of the children in Africa with albinism. And I will say a quiet prayer of gratitude for every last second of my privileged, abundant, safe, happy and amazing life on planet earth. I encourage anyone reading this to do the same.
From the farm we hiked to the culmination of the trek which was a breathtaking scenic viewpoint from one of the highest points in the Usambara mountains. Here I truly got to take in the full scope of Lushoto’s beauty. From the scenic overlook we walked back to town, traversing small villages and farm land. Motorbikes sped past us on red dirt roads as children got out of schools and flooded the streets and hiking trails in droves. Practicing their best English, they yelled at me, “Hello! How are you? Where are you from? My name is….” Samuel tried to convince me that I should begin organizing tours to Tanzania from the United States. He told me that I could use my travel blog to educate people about all of the exciting adventures Tanzania has to offer. He explained that he could help me organize trekking and cycling tours for my friends and families. Truthfully, the idea excited me! I told him we would stay in touch and I would strongly consider it.
We arrived back in town around dinner time. I took a stroll down the main street in search of some local Ugali (one of the most popular traditional foods) for dinner. At one point I passed a group of gentlemen sitting on wooden crates in a circle sipping small cups of coffee. They were speaking loudly and joyfully with such animated hand-waving energy that I was forced to stop and stare. Standing up, sitting down, pointing fingers, laughing loudly, slapping thighs, slapping backs, rolling eyes, sipping more coffee.
One of the gentlemen, who spoke very good English, saw my fascination and invited me to sit and join them. As their high-spirited discussion ensued, my new friend pointed each of the characters out to me and explained their profession and role in the community: Judge, Lawyer, Proprietor, Doctor, Tour Guide. He explained that the primary topics of the conversation were politics and the results of the most recent soccer match between Cameroon and Egypt. This was the evening “coffee clutchers” of Lushoto. The proverbial “meeting of the minds”. I didn’t understand a word they were saying but, Swahili is so pleasant to listen to and they were so wildly entertaining I sat there watching and listening for nearly thirty minutes. They reminded me of my father and his friends back in Wisconsin.
One of things that makes travel so interesting is the characters you meet along the way: local and international.
In Lushoto I reconnected with some jovial Spaniards who I had met the previous week on a Safari. They were from the island of Ibiza and we often met for dinner in the evenings. We shared beers and exchanged travel stories. They would casually tell me tales of wild parties in Ibiza with the relaxed nature of someone reciting a grocery list. One of them maniacally laughed as he tried to convince me of the benefits of taking Viagra recreationally. When I spoke Spanish with them, they made fun of my accent as sounding, “Mentally challenged Mexican”. Late one evening as we sat around chatting and drinking beers, one of these entertaining Spaniards looked at his watch and abruptly exclaimed loudly, as if late for something said, “I have to go shave my balls!”. He said it with such conviction and obvious importance that I was forced to look at my watch, slightly embarrassed, that I was unaware of this important not-to-miss-hour (It’s that time already??). It turned out he had a tinder date that night and needed to head back to his hotel to do some “maintenance”. I would run into these comical and animated gentlemen two days later on the island of Zanzibar at a music festival. They would end up being my travel companions and I would spend nearly a week with them hopping beaches and exploring the famous spice region.
And this is why I love to travel!