Kilimanjaro Part 8b

August 27, 2009 (Day 7 on the mountain and back to Arusha)

Continued...

They clean and dress, and then Papa and Macho come and get us. The rest of the crew is dealing with baggage and will meet us at the bar. So off we go to find our first dolla dolla ride. We walk into the small town of Mweka and are immediately bombarded by people trying to sell us stuff. It’s disconcerting when you’ve just stepped off a mountain.

We use the helpful, and polite, phrase of ‘Hapana, asante’ (no, thank you), but to no avail. We are wazungu, and they’re not about to give up. We finally find a dolla dolla, and get on, but they surround the windows. We can’t leave until the driver finds a few other passengers so we just get to the point that we ignore them all, as any interaction is viewed as encouraging, even if you’re repeating ‘Hapana, asante. Hapana. Hapana—dammit.’ We get a few more passengers, and we’re off to Moshi.

Along the way the dolla dolla fills up with Christian Sisters (i.e. nuns), as schools are just letting out. It’s clear that we are a curious sight. In the snatches of Swahili I hear, the word wazungu features prominently, and grins and laughter usually aren’t far behind. I’m unsure if it’s because we’re wazungu or because the odor coming off us is fairly overpowering.

We get out to transfer to a new dolla dolla, and I’m glad Papa is leading this expedition, as I have no idea how we’d find the correct one. The next one is so packed already that we stand.

As I’m there, I catch the eye of an older gentleman who lifts his brows and points to Lisa. At some point on the hike, she’s torn a hole in the seat of her pants. She’s wearing a number of layers, and nothing is showing, but this gentleman seems upset nonetheless. He reaches out to touch the flap of fabric. ‘Kilimanjaro’ I say. Thinking this explains everything. He nods, clicks his tongue, and shakes his head. Kilimanjaro or no Kilimanjaro, he clearly thinks ladies should not be out in public with holes in their pants.

We get to the bar and Papa starts ordering. A round of Kilimanjaro beer appears, appropriate, but we protest. We want to try banana beer. ‘Later, later, not here.’ We settle in for beer, and the rest of the crew shows up. Then a woman comes around with a bowl, water pitcher and soap. Papa says ‘You watch me.’ He washes his hands as she pours the water. Then they have a brief conversation, and she comes over to us. We all rinse and repeat and she makes her way around the crew. Papa then explains that he had to talk her into going to us first.

‘In Europe and America, it is ladies first, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah. Here in Africa, it is different. It is men first. Always.’

Lesson learned.

The food shows up. Ugali. Finally. The food of the Chagga people. It’s a thick maize porridge, like grits, but thicker. You pick a handful up, roll it into a ball, dip it in hot sauce and salt and pop it in your mouth. It’s quite good, but I can see why this is what they eat for the hike. It could stay with you for weeks. The ugali is accompanied by nyama choma (BBQed meat), in this case, goat. Goat ribs. It’s quite good.

We spend a lovely afternoon with the crew. Papa’s papa, Gabriel, stops by the bar and joins us. We finally settle up, although Papa does all the math with the bill to make sure we don’t get the wazungu price—on average three times what they would be charged—and head back to the hotel.

We arrive at the lodge to find that Mike had been there waiting for us, but gave up and will stop by in the morning. We’ve been running on what Papa calls Africa time. In Africa time, you get up when you get up, you go to sleep when you go to sleep, and you get there when you get there (not too unfamiliar, like Mormon time). We decide to skip dinner, the ugali has another week to digest at least, so we get a bottle of wine, head to the room and take turns using the blessed blessed shower. Then finally, bed. In a bed. We all sleep like angels (but that might be the beer and the wine).

Altitude covered today:

All downhill—does it matter?

Photos: Kilimanjaro Beer. Toast at the bar. A dolla dolla at rest.