A bonafide predicament (Stranded by our stupidity)

We have met many fellow travelers in Tanzania, and without exception, each has a horror story about traveling in Africa.  These horror stories range from being robbed at knife-point to being harassed at border crossings for bribes from officials, to being abandoned by the long-distance bus miles from nowhere after a lunch-stop.

The following is our story.  Only the "horror" in our story has to do with our own stupidity.  But it did help us to see the beauty of this place and get to know the locals like we never would have otherwise.

We spent our days hiking around Lushoto witnessing what seemed like a National Geographic foldout around every corner

Tanzania is a very poor country with an annual per capita income of about $200.  There is limited infrastructure and what is in place is tenuous at best, the consequence being that nothing is easy.  For example, we have come to accept that on any given day we will have either running water or electricity, rarely both, and occasionally neither.  In fact, the first night that we were in Tanzania we stayed in the main city, Dar es Saalam, and the power went out.  We learned in the newspaper the following day that a major power substation had failed and that it would be two weeks before parts could be acquired to fix the problem.  This is in a city of millions of people.  TWO WEEKS.

Buses breakdown constantly, telephones often don't work, large sums of money disappear from public coffers, the leading presidential candidate from the opposing party suddenly dies of a „heart attack‰ just days before a national election (yes, this really happened while we were there)∑  Daily life for the average modern Tanzanian is full of challenges.  Daily life for the Highams has been, er, interesting.

We opened our guide book and settled on a visit to Lushoto, in the Usambara mountains, for our remaining time.  According to our guide book, Lushoto is a town of 100,000 people, is off the standard tourist track and beckons backpackers with its surrounding rainforest and fantastic hiking trails.

In addition, Lushoto is the center for one of the best Cultural Tourism programs in Tanzania.  These programs provide activities for tourists, such as guided hikes and visits to villages, and most of the proceeds go to fund development projects such as drilling wells in remote areas, funding reforestation efforts, or building primary schools.

The bus ride to Lushoto would be 8 hours in duration and start at 6:30 a.m.  The night before we left we discussed our dwindling cash supply.  A trip to the ATM machine would have been a prudent move, but the thought of walking four obstacle-obstructed blocks in the dark to the ATM machine in plain view of all of the street vendors and beggars was not on my must-accomplish list.  I could have taken a taxi, but hopping into a dilapidated car with a driver I didn‚t know after a stop to the ATM machine seemed akin to a spin on the roulette wheel.  We decided to wait until we arrived at our new town to visit the ATM machine.  I had Tsh 10,000 ($9.50) in my pocket.

The next day our bus twisted and turned as it clung to the edge of a cliff, climbing high up into the mountains toward the town of Lushoto.  The scenery became green and lush.  (September, prone to being car sick, became green and flush.)

We passed small farms growing sugarcane and banana trees, and occasionally we would see monkeys climbing across the branches of an overhanging tree.  We arrived in Lushoto just before 3:00 p.m. on a Friday afternoon.  The bus pulled up into a town square of hard-packed, uneven dirt.  The small square was surrounded by a number of wooden shacks selling anything from used car parts to packages of biscuits.  I recalled walking down the street in Zermatt, Switzerland and seeing a Rolex dealer about every third door.  We were a long way from Switzerland.  I realized that the author of our guide book must have accidentally typed in an extra zero or two when he cited Lushoto‚s population at 100,000.

Somehow I had come across a business card for a small hotel in Lushoto that proudly advertised, „Enjoy running water and hot shower!‰  Until you spend months traveling and staying in budget hostels, you can never appreciate how wonderful a hot shower sounds.  As I looked at the simple houses in the majestic green, surrounding mountains I could easily believe that most dwellings had no running water.  I eagerly headed a couple hundred feet for the small hotel with the thought that I was really, really going to like this town.

The kids were hungry, so we checked into the hotel with the goal of soon getting something to eat.  No one in Tanzania seemed to accept credit cards, and the place that advertised actual running water didn‚t either.  As is customary, payment is in advance, but since we didn‚t have enough cash, I simply explained to the staff that I needed to visit the bank.

The hotel staff told me that it would be OK to pay later, but I should hurry to the bank as it was closing for the weekend in just 15 minutes.  The gravity of the casual comment that „it‰ would close didn‚t hit me until later.

I went to the bank, but no ATM was visible.  I tried to search around the outside of the bank, but every bank in Tanzania has its own armed security guards lurking about, and this one was no different.  The nice man with the machine gun took notice of me walking around the bank with a quizzical look.  I determined that the ATM machine must be inside, and stepped through the doorway, followed by Mr. Machine Gun.  A casual glance confirmed that no ATM existed inside either.  I got in line.  Mr. Machine Gun kept me under his watchful eye.

While standing in line I started to take in my surroundings.  I noted that the bank was called the National Microfinance Bank.  I have read about these banks.  They are chartered by the U.N. and the World Bank for the purpose of, say, giving a loan in the amount of $30 so a farmer can buy seed or $50 so a woman can build a chicken coop.

When it was my turn to talk to the teller, I asked him where the ATM machine was.  He told me there wasn‚t one.  I produced my credit card and asked if I could please get a cash advance.  The teller looked at my credit card and laughed.  I asked if it was possible to wire money to the bank.  It wasn‚t.  I asked where the nearest ATM machine was, and he said „Arusha.‰  I said, „I just came from Arusha!  It was 8 hours on the bus!‰  I fought the urge to panic.  I asked if there was another bank in town, or if there was a Western Union office nearby.  There wasn‚t.  In desperation I explained that I was here in town with a family of four and almost no cash and that SURELY there was a way for me to get money out of the bank.  The bank teller shook his head and called for the next person in line.

I went back to the hotel where September and the kids were waiting.  We nervously discussed our situation and realized that we had been very, very foolish.  We were like the kid who opens his dresser drawer always expecting to find clean clothes inside, or the teenager who opens the refrigerator expecting to find it magically full of food.  The bank may have been full of money, but it was not for us.

We discussed the facts.

-   First of all, we had about $9.50 in cash.

-   We did not have enough money to pay for a single night in our hotel.

-   All of the buses had left town for the day.  It didn‚t matter, though, as we had no money for tickets.

-   If we didn‚t eat dinner that night we had enough money for ONE person to leave town the next day to go to the ATM, but the round trip would take two days.

-   The only way to get more cash was for me to travel to a town that was eight hours away by bus.  If I was unsuccessful for any reason I would have no way to return to the family.

Never before had we been in such a predicament.  We kept telling ourselves that somehow, things always work out, but given the facts, the odds didn't seem to be in our favor.  What happens to travelers that find themselves stranded in a remote location with no money and no friends?  We simply didn‚t know what to do.  We discussed checking out of the hotel and camping, but food would still be a problem.  We were stuck.

We decided to leave the kids in the hotel room and seek out some advice.  I went to a small building in town that advertised tours thinking someone there might accept a credit card for food and/or lodging, and September went to the Cultural Tourism Office to see if there was a place for us to camp.

I explained our situation to the man at the tour office and asked if there was anyone in town who could possibly accept a credit card.  The man looked at me sympathetically, called a taxi, paid my taxi fare („you can just pay me back later‰) and directed me to the owner of a mountain lodge a few kilometers out of town.  When I arrived at the lodge I explained my situation to the owner and asked if there was any way he could take a credit card.  There wasn‚t, but he opened up his wallet and gave me everything he had, Tsh 30,000 or about $US27.  While that wasn‚t a tremendous amount of money, it was enough to feed the family, and also ensure that I would have a return bus ticket should my search for an ATM the following day be in vain.  I explained that I didn‚t really know exactly when I would be able to pay him back.  His reply was, „Hakuna Matata,‰ which until now I thought was just a line from the Lion King.

Meanwhile, September was telling our story to a woman at the Cultural Tourism office.  The woman said that she didn‚t‚ know what we could do, but to please give her a bit of time to find her colleagues in town and talk to them.

September waited outside our hotel, wondering where I had gone and if I had simply abandoned the family in despair.  A half hour later, two employees of the Cultural Tourism Office came looking for September.  „We have a solution,‰ they said.  The explained that they had a safe containing $300 U.S. which was the money the program had earned in the past several weeks, earmarked for community development projects.  Would our family like to borrow it?  In comparison to the country‚s per capita income, these people were offering complete strangers a tremendous amount of money.

We found that day that what Lushoto lacked in Rolex dealers it made up for in character and kindness.  In just over two hours in town, we owed four people money ˆ our hotel manager, the man who paid my taxi fare, the owner of the mountain lodge, and now the Cultural Tourism Office.

Of course, I was nervous that there would be strings attached, or interest of 100% per day.  But there were no such strings.  The help we received was purely out of charity, with no collateral and no discussion of a repayment schedule.

The immediate crisis was over.  We were able to avoid a hungry, rainy night out in our sleeping bags hiding out in the rainforest.  Alas, the running water in our hotel wasn‚t working after all (or when it did, it came out of the tap a rich murky brown) but we were dry, fed, and happy.

I found that the nearest ATM was not in Arusha as the bank teller had told me, but that there was „probably‰ one in Tanga, a town on the coast of Tanzania that was only four hours away by bus instead of eight.  This meant if I got an early start, I could make the round trip and return in the afternoon of the same day.

I set off early Saturday morning feeling a little bit like Almanzo Wilder going out against a blizzard to find food to save a starving town (from the Little House classic book, „The Long Winter‰).  At 6:00 a.m. I made my way to the center of Lushoto to catch a bus, and found the town square a beehive of activity.  Someone was kind enough to help me find the right bus.  In contrast to my experience in Arusha, the person who helped me didn‚t demand a tip.  Nor did a fight break out over who helped me the most.

I made the long trip to Tanga and withdrew a 3-inch stack of bills from the (working!) ATM and made it back to my family who had gone on an all-day hike with a guide from the Cultural Tourism Program.

Lushoto has been a genuine pleasure to visit, making me realize that once you get past the big cities, Tanzania is a wonderful travel destination.  But it does require a strong constitution to endure constant chaos and uncertainty present in everyday life.

In Lushoto people live a more traditional lifestyle and are not bitter when the white guy who comes by doesn‚t hand out cash on demand.  The locals are genuinely happy to see us as we walk by, greeting us with big smiles.  The little children come running as soon as they catch sight of us in the distance, yelling „Jambo!‰ (Swahili for „hello‰) and squeal in delight as we return their greetings.  Frequently they will walk with us, and since they can‚t communicate with us they will just smile, and reach out and hold our hands as we walk down the road.  The contrast with the begging culture of the kids in and around the bigger towns could not have been greater.

We spent our days hiking around Lushoto witnessing what seemed like a National Geographic foldout around every corner, such as women and children carrying bundles of firewood balanced on their heads, or people harvesting and processing sugarcane by hand, or of children playing soccer with a ball made of rolled-up rags held together by string.

Once again we find ourselves leaving a place wishing we had a few more days to explore.  We will especially remember the kindness of the townspeople who helped us out of a nasty predicament of our own making, never once expecting anything in return.

This email has become too long for everyday use, so I‚ll just briefly mention that we have become acquainted with the world's greatest invention while in Tanzania.  It is surely illegal in the U.S., as it involves death and sizzling sparks, but can be used by any eight-year-old with enough cunning and skill to apply its destructive powers.  More on that later.