One Long Complaint

If anyone ever recommends that you take a 30+ hour bus ride through several developing countries, that person is not your friend. About two weeks ago, we Bukobians took the overnight ferry to Mwanza, our city of departure. The plan was to take the Scandinavia bus line (which is equipped with AC, in theory) from there, through Nairobi, back into Tanzania then down to Dar Es Salaam. If you are at all familiar with the geography of Tanzania, you will now be saying, "But Rob, why not go directly from Mwanza to Dar, as that route is hundreds of kilometers shorter?!" Well that's true, but those roads aren't paved. On paper, a direct journey through the middle of Tanzania should take maybe 15 hours. The last person I talked to that went that way arrived 4 days late, as most of the roads were rained out and full of ruts. So that option is really not a very good one, and hence there we were, ready for our trip through Kenya.
I must say, this trip was really not as bad as it could have been. That is not saying it wasn't bad. Just that it wasn't the worst experience of my life. Leaving at 11pm, we made good time up and out of Tanzania, stopping every two hours or so for bathroom breaks. They played "Anaconda" when the trip started, which was pretty awesome. Being naive, I thought that the roads in Kenya, which is the more developed of the two countries, would be quite nice and wide. Thus I was highly chagrined when, maybe 50km outside of Nairobi, we turned onto what was the worst road I have EVER seen. I think it was paved maybe a hundred years ago then forgotten, except by the bus drivers of the Scandinavia line. I can't really describe it, except to say that luggage was flying off the racks above us, bombarding people's heads, despite the fact that we were only going about 15km per hour. It was awful, and the worst part was that we reached this point at like 10pm, when everyone was asleep. It was the most rude awakening I've ever had. We got into Nairobi at a little after midnight, so I couldn't really see much of the city. We all got the feel that it was much more Westernized than anywhere else in East Africa (this means straight roads and street lights, office buildings and billboards).
At around 2am we reached the border again. The way we cross borders here is kind of funny: You get off the bus and walk up to a little hut, which is the departing customs office of the country you are leaving. They stamp your passport and grumble a bit (the night shift must be rough...), then you leave the hut and literally walk across the border into the next country. There are no guards. I think if you wanted you could walk all over East Africa and never once get stopped at a border (but I think that could potentially not work out...). Then you go to the immigration hut in the country you are entering, get grumbled at some more, another stamp, and that's that. Its pretty laidback compared to the US, even when entering Canada. They never ask any questions, so if I'd wanted I could have smuggled in 16 giraffes without even having to lie:
"*grumble grumble* Hello Mr. American. Are you smuggling any animals such as giraffes today, sir?"
"Oh no Mr. Border, not 16 of them. I know this is a true fact."
"*grumble* OK good, as long as it is a true fact. Let me stamp and crinkle your passport, then you can simply walk across our border."
"That is very laidback of you."("I feel terrible, I shouldn't have lied about those giraffes...")

Anyway, when we all finished at the border, we expected to be back on the road right away. Well, Kenya has no laws about buses driving at night. They don't care. Tanzania does have a law, that buses cannot operate between 10pm and sun-up. This was inconvenient for us, sitting there at the border at 2am, since the sun begins to rise at around 6am. So that was our designated "sleep time" apparently. However this was delightfully ruined by a man with a baby that happened to be the world's most accomplished crier. Seriously... I finally muttered something in Swahili about rudeness at around 4 or 5am, and he took the Human Siren off the bus into a little hut or something. Three or four Tanzanians patted me on the back and then we all slept for an hour.
We got to driving again a little before six, and the drivers played "US Marshalls" with my man Snipes. That was pretty good, except for the rockin headache I had developed. I forgot to mention that we headed mostly north the first day of the trip, and mostly south the second day. This meant those on the left side of the bus got blasted by our Equatorial sun both days (think about it; its the truth). I was cursed with the left side, thus my headache.
That morning we made good progress, expecting to arrive in Dar at around 4pm. I think the saddest thing that has ever happened to me in my life was when, a mere 20km outside of the city, we came upon a massive traffic jam due to an accident on a bridge. This was at 3pm or so, the heat of the day. I think you understand that the brochures lied about the AC. So were sat there, having already traveled for 28 hours, roasting in the afternoon blaze. It was pretty rough; I was highly despondent by then. The jam cleared up about an hour later, but we moved slowly the rest of the way and got into town at 6pm or so.
What did I then do? Shower, beer, and Indian food. It worked wonders. The only depressing thing was going to buy my ticket for the return bus trip as soon as we got in. That was not easy, I felt like they should pay me for enduring that nonsense and coming back for more. In between these long marches, I actually had an awesome week seeing everyone from training. Mulletfest did occur, and I'll write about it later. I am posting pictures, of which there are many. The good times more than made up for the strife. I returned by the same route a few days ago, and this time the bus broke down for two hours as soon as we got going. When I boarded the bus this time, I bought a newspaper to look at. The front page said "52 dead in bus collision". Great... That's like watching a plane crash movie while flying. I got into Mwanza on Sunday, and the only tickets left for the ferry were 3rd class. If you are unaware, this is not the good class. I ended up sleeping on a bench on the top deck, shivering and sad. When I got home yesterday, I slept for about 18 hours. Now I feel alive again. I'll try to write a little bit about mulletfest in a day or two. All I can say is that it rocked. Peace