3 AM. Seriously. That’s what time our bus was scheduled to leave Mocimboa da Praia. When we rolled up to the bus around quarter to, we weren’t exactly surprised to see many passengers had shown up even before we did and were fast asleep. By the time the bus left the “station” it was going on four in the morning. Because it seemed to be less than half full, we picked a row of three seats with hopes of being the only two sitting in the row so Andrew would have enough leg-room. Big Mistake. HUGE. Because we spent the next hour driving around town picking up more… and more… and more passengers. By five o’clock in the morning, a woman who defied every stereotype of hunger and famine that all of the commercials about Africa had represented when I was younger had taken over half of our row. Andrew’s legs were in the aisle amid the standing passengers and I was trying to will my squished self back to sleep.
And then, not twenty minutes later, we woke up to our bus slipping, gears grinding, and then the engine giving up. This day was now going to be known as the day our bus got stuck in mud. Apparently the buses leave so early to avoid the heat. Not quite dawn, we were told we would have to wait for the sun to come up and dry the mud.
So, we waited. Half of the bus unloaded and Andrew and I climbed into some vacant rows and fell asleep for an hour or so. The sun came up. There was a pile of trucks behind us. One bus was stuck ahead of us. Barefoot men pushing bikes loaded down with coal cruised past us all.
At one point a group of men, some in their late thirties, (I’m guessing) some in their early teens came down the road holding shovels and machetes above their heads. They were riled up, shouting, waving their weapons of choice around, circling the bus. The few others who had stayed on the bus didn’t seem to be phased, one older gentleman even rolled his eyes over the spectacle. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure what to make of it at all. I did what anyone else (clearly out of her comfort zone) would do: I slipped my backpack under my legs and leaned back against my seat pretending I was bored out of my mind.
I’d like to think this tactic worked, for there was no harm done, but really, I kinda doubt they were going to harm anyone. I think they were just all worked up thinking they could dig an enormous bus out of the mud. Once they realized they couldn’t, they slinked back to wherever they came from.
We were eventually pulled out by a Caterpillar tractor and made our way down to Pemba. It was crowded. There were at least twenty people (probably more) standing in the aisle of the bus. A random group of six men appeared out of nowhere asking for a ride on our bus. The men, we guessed a mix of North African, possibly Arabic, and Indian said that they lost all of their things and were having trouble bartering with the driver getting onto the bus. At one point, they asked Andrew for $50.00 to get on the bus and said they would pay him back when we got to Pemba. Andrew relayed this to me, thinking we didn’t have enough cash on hand.
“I have it.” I told Andrew, and then added with a slight smirk, “That’s what they get when they don’t think to ask a woman…” But then, I started feeling badly, wondering how others would help us if we were in the same predicament. I even slipped my fifty dollar bill into my hand… but then the bus stopped and the men were let on. Twenty minutes later at a standard “safety” check, an officer climbed on the bus, ignored the twenty other men standing in the aisle and pulled all six of the foreign men off of the bus.
I guess it was probably a good idea I didn’t hand over my $50 after all.
Fourteen hours after we first boarded the bus, we arrived in Pemba. We were exhausted, sore, and hungry. The owner of Ten Degrees in Tanzania recommended a place to us in Pemba. She said it was a great place to hang out and had dorms that would fit our budget. We headed there.
Unfortunately, Russell’s Place was nothing to write home about, except in the form of complaints. We were given dubious looks when we asked for beds in the dorm, then not only charged a ridiculous fee, but led to an open air loft above a barn that seemed to house a generator for the entire lodge, and didn’t notice the wafting smell of garbage until after we had checked in and showered. After the past few days, I didn’t have any energy to complain, let alone walk around to find another bed to sleep in, so we sat down for dinner, and then crawled back into our respective bunks immediately after.
