“Wapi pesa, wewe! bellowed the bus driver’s assistant. “Where’s the money, you!” Grabbing the young man by the lapels of his faded, second-hand coat, he banged him  against the side of the bus. Then–whump!  He did it again. “Toa nauli! Pay the fare!” His victim had snuck on without paying at the last stop, but the assistant, a hard-bitten tough, with a well-filled tee-shirt and flat, narrow-brimmed cap, had found him out. “Nimelipa!” the young man wailed as he struggled to escape, “I have paid.” Thump! The tough flung him against the bus again. “Hakuna pesa! I have no money!”  Whump!  Whump! And, so it continued for several minutes, the other passengers watching with mild interest through the windows, until the husky assistant felt he had made this point and contemptuously waved away the penniless passenger, who scurried off with an embarrassed grin.

Bus travel had its moments,

As long and tedious as it was, our 400-mile bus trip upcountry from Dar es Salaam (see post: Going Upcountry) was actually nothing special. Tanganyika (present-day Tanzania) was the size of France and its population centers were widely scattered. Thus, long-distance travel was frequently necessary (For instance, my future wife and I were posted 785 miles apart–picture Seattle to half-way across Montana, or alternately, central California). Furthermore, buses were relatively cheap and served far more places than trains and commercial airplanes. Therefore. they were the most frequent form of long-distance travel.

Although sometimes not the safest.

Accidents did happen, of course, but breakdowns, often far out in the countryside, were more common. If unable to fix the problem himself, the driver sent a message back to town with a passing motorist and then waited for hours (or longer) for help to arrive. Sometimes it was a long time coming, too, as evidenced by the times i’ve seen a driver, his passengers having hitched rides with passing vehicles, asleep under his bus, still awaiting it.

Most roads were graveled or, as in the above photos, just graded dirt. In both cases, but especially the latter, they were seasonally dusty and muddy.  In the dry season, moving vehicles raised clouds of dust that covered everything, even filtering in through closed windows. During the rainy season the problem was mud. For instance, when I traveled to Mbeya in southern Tanganyika to visit Cathy, I got so muddy while helping free my  bus, mired to its axles in sticky goo, that I arrived, two days later, almost as dark as the African passengers. For her part, Cathy once took a bus from Mbeya that couldn’t cross a shallowly flooded section of the road without bogging down. Another bus, on its way to Mbeya, was stopped on the other side. The drivers simply traded buses, wading with their passengers and luggage (the latter balanced on their heads) through the water to the vehicle on the other side, and continuing on.

Even with no hitches, bus rides became boring after the first hour or so. However, here and there along the way, something usually cropped jus to relieve the tedium. Rest stops, for instance, were welcome opportunities to stretch tired legs, relieve an overfull bladder, and get something to eat. The paragraph below describes one taken during my first week in Tanganyika.

After a few hours, the bus stopped for a break at a small roadside village, a straggle of small, widely spaced, mud-plastered huts with thatched or corrugated tin roofs, and a large mango tree shading two old men sitting on wobbly wooden chairs. Women sat flat on the ground, selling mangoes, papayas, and bananas from piles in front of them. Young men hawked fruit and groundnuts through the windows to passengers still on the bus. I had to find a toilet, which meant I had to ask directions, which meant–I assumed–that I must do it in Swahili. Choosing a likely looking man, I mumbled, “Choo iko wapi?” (Toilet is where?)

Buffaloes by My Bedroom: Tales of Tanganyika. 

(Subsequent rest stops also offered mandazis, African donuts. My opinion? Drool-worthy. Get your recipe for mandazis.)

Back on the road, flowering jacaranda and flamboyant trees brightened otherwise humdrum-looking settlements with colorful splashes of  bluish-purple and scarlet. Gunny sacks of charcoal by the roadside far from any dwelling made me wonder why they weren’t stolen. I saw farmers working their fields with their iconic heavy hoes (singular: jembe; plural: majembe) and marveled at strange-looking baobab or upside-down trees. Passing through Mikumi National Park one night, the bus was flooded by the distinctive smell of elephants.

Bus trips provided many memories. Nonetheless, I was always glad to see them end.