The Kilwas, Masoko and Kivinje

---

Kilwa Masoko

Just to make life difficult the relevant authorities in Dar es Salaam have in their ultimate wisdom decided that bus stations for transport leaving Dar are on the outer edges the city. For those wanting to head to the south coast and cities near the Mozambique border the bus station you need to leave from is Mbagala, Rangi Tatu.

The destination on the front of the daladala from the centre of town read ‘M/rangi 3’ or ‘Mbagala R/3’ and about10k south of town along the Kilwa road I spotted a road-sign pointing to the bus stand. I alighted at the next stop only to be surrounded by market stalls, I asked for directions for the bus park and was pointed around the corner.

I felt pretty sure I’d get a seat on the 11am bus to Kilwa Masoko if I arrived at 10 and so went straight to the Mashallah Coach office right next to the bus park entrance. A bloke with a big smile told me the 11am bus was full and said I should leave my bag at the office and buy a ticket for the 1pm bus. Nah sod that! I didn’t tell him that, instead I told him I go get a chai.

So I went and sat at a cafe in the bus park, ordered chai and chapatti but before the waitress had reached the kitchen I spotted a Mtwara bound Buti la Zungu coach entering the park that must have left Temeke bus park at 10; so I shouted to the waitress to forget my order as I chased after the Buti bus to see if I could get a seat on board as far as Nangurukuru.

As the bus stopped a scrum of people formed at the entrance of which I was soon at the centre of. I was busy waving money in the face of the conductor trying to get his attention and hopefully getting hold of a seat on the bus, while an employee of Mashallah Coach was tugging on my collar and doing his best to convince me that hanging around for another 2 ½ hours for their bus would be a better idea than leaving straight away.

Phew! I managed to get the last seat on the bus in the middle of the back row. I was delighted to be on my way, and ½ hour ahead of the 11am Mashallah Coach I’d originally planned to catch. A few kilometres down the road I wasn’t so chuffed as the air/con kicked in on full blast and the short sleeved linen shirt I was wearing was doing nothing to keep me warm.

Hours later on reaching Nagurukuru the bus pulled into the cafe cum coach stop just short of the main junction where I jumped onto a boda for the short distance to the Kilwa stage. One car had just left and 15 minutes later our now full 7-seater car left, paying 2k for the short hop to Kilwa Masoko. One of the other passengers had also been on the Buti la Zungu bus and was on his way to his sister’s wedding. As we alighted at Masoko he pointed me in the direction of a couple of guest houses as he went to a small restaurant which he said was the best in the town.

Laumbe Lodge the lodge I chose to enter was immaculate and I was shown a room for 20,000 Tsh, I usually like to pay 15 but 20k was great value for this room.

Showered and out, I went to the cafe where I’d previously left my fellow passenger. It had gone lunch time so there wasn’t a lot of choice.

“The beans they are finished, but I could make you an omelette to go with your mchicha and ugali” The girl at the cafe said in surprisingly good English as she helpfully catered to this awkward veggie.

After a decent meal and realising it was Saturday afternoon I thought it right to go for a beer and in a bar on the road down to the port I had a few scoops watching football on the TV. During the second game I left for one more beer at the Roadside bar, a much better bar, and had a chat with a couple of Masai who interestingly reckoned that the Mashallah Coach company discriminated against Masai and wazungu! After a few beers had been downed I left for my lodge and slept on my big firm mattress.

The next morning I took a walk from the town centre along the road past the bank and post office and reached the small fenced off harbour. A couple of kilometres away Kilkwa Kisiwani was clearly seen from where I was standing. A couple of tea shacks were near the port but not much else and there was no sign of any boats going between the island and the mainland. I decided to walk the long way around to town via the gravel road that I guessed went to the beach.

I was soon joined by a young bloke who was keen to walk with me; I was happy walking on my own and did as much as I could to shake him off without going as far as telling where to go! His English was worse than my Swahili but when we reached the beach he was clearly understood when he pointed to my crotch and in Swahili said “I need this.”

It was then that I thought now is probably the right time to tell him to “fuck off!”

It really felt like a lazy Sunday lunchtime in Kilwa or was the small town really as sleepy as this all the time; so hoping to find some life I went to the Roadside bar. No one was at a table inside or out of the pub so I propped up the bar until I was joined by one other punter who thankfully was in a good mood and we both had a laugh over a couple of beers mainly at the expense of Harusi the good natured girl serving the beers from behind the grill.

At the beach earlier the tide was right out so I returned again after leaving the boozer knowing that the tide would be high. I had a brief swim and relaxed on the sand until I heard someone say “Do you need company?”

Thankfully it wasn’t the sex pest from earlier but a young woman barely out of her teens if at all. After chatting a while and smiling through countless selfies with me the only muzungu on the beach she waved goodbye and headed for town.

Kilwa Kavinje

After an excellent breakfast of Njugu maue with chapatti and a chai in a makuti roofed roadside hotel I boarded a car for Kilwa Kavinje. After the short journey the shared taxi dropped me at a crossroads in the middle of Kivinje. Wondering where exactly to go I went straight into Raha Hotel on the corner and I fancied another cuppa but entered the place mainly to get my photocopied map out and get my bearings. The cafe was busy with a gaggle of veil wearing local women who greeted me and then giggled amongst themselves. The gaggle left and I took a few photos in the cafe and finished my tea.



I headed to the beach. But I couldn’t help noticing a crowd of crouching men who I guessed were prisoners because they were guarded by heavily armed soldiers complete with body armour and even gloves (in this heat), an even bigger crowd of onlookers were watching from across the street.

I asked one of the bystanders what was happening and the only word I understood was gereza the Swahili word for prison.

The town beach was as busy with boats as the air was with the smell of drying sardines, every flat piece of ground seemed to have a tarpaulin covered with drying fish.



I went one street back and parallel to the beachfront which was full of crumbling buildings that dated from the German occupation and the last time any repairs had been done on these buildings looked like it had been done during that period. The whole street looked stunning in its picturesque decay. Pretty much all of the German built buildings were two storeys some with wide staircases outside leading to the upper floor but all had wooden shutters hanging from whatever hinges had survive all those years in the tropical heat .

I had read that Kilwa Kivinje is a conservative place but since arriving in town I had only encountered friendly curiosity, but even so I was still wary of taking photographs. Under a rusting veranda outside one of these buildings a tailor had set up his operations and was busy sewing away I asked him if it was cool to take photos. He was well happy not just for me to take photos of the crumbling beauty of the building he was sat beneath but was happy to have himself pictured in the photo. From then on I was busy snapping away.

“Muzungu ana piga picha na gorofa.” behind me I heard as a young girl telling her schoolmates. These girls were certainly not afraid of the camera and insisted I take their photo as they happily posed for a few snaps and then still pestered me to take more. “One last one” I told them.



I eventually found the Memorial to remember 4 German soldiers that was in the centre of four upturned cannons and surrounding the memorial were more fish laden tarpaulins. I was near the cafe again so I grabbed another cuppa before heading to the bus stand.

Just before reaching the bus stand a driver of a shared taxi called out to me. “Mzungu unarudi Masoko?” and signalled me to get in. In Swahili he said “This one is a friend of mine. He knows Swahili.” He told the glamorous women sitting in the passenger seat. I was a bit embarrassed by this as my Swahili was poor and I hadn’t a clue who this bloke was.

I had two more days in Kilwa Masoko visiting the beach early morning and late afternoon and spending pleasant evenings in the Roadside Bar sometimes drinking with a happy drunk who I only knew as ‘Teacher’.

---

Comments

[RENanDREW]

Love the atitude!
Love the cheeky confidence of these girls :) Haven't read your older African blogs yet, but I'm guessing that understanding even a little Swahili will be very helpful in that part of the world. Cheers, Ren

[Muguruki]

Yeah It still makes me chuckle at that photo now.