Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
munist rule had instilled in the population a certain paranoia and a constant suspicion of
others. 'Every Tanzanian has the right to question someone not known to the community,'
Boston explained. I could feel it too. In the villages we had passed through we faced more
suspicion than we had encountered in all our time in Rwanda, where every day we shook
hands and ate with possible killers.
Soon after Tanzania gained independence, the new Prime Minister, Julius Nyerere, had
moved to suppress opposition in all its forms, including not just other political parties but
trade unions and community groups as well. It was Nyerere's belief that, in a nation made
up of hundreds of different ethnic groups - and coming from backgrounds as distinct as
Tanganyika and Zanzibar - multiple political parties would destabilise the new nation. His
aim was to suppress not just the parties but the cultures themselves, and he swiftly insti-
tuted a policy that banned all languages except his native Kiswahili. Everything was na-
tionalised, private businesses destroyed, and Nyerere implemented a policy of 'Ujamaa', a
kind of African Socialism that brought his government into a close relationship with Com-
munist China. Boston's belief was that we were seeing the relics of that as we walked: the
suspicious nature of the locals was itself a direct product of those years of close, scrutin-
ised rule. Tanzania is a democracy now - but its people seemed somehow to be defined by
the suspicion and hostility of those years.
Christmas Eve came and with it the fiercest sun we had encountered. In the morning,
Boston returned to camp, trailing two local Tanzanians who could act as porters for us
until we reached the Ugandan border some seventy miles north. I was grateful for the help
carrying our packs, but I was less than convinced by Boston's choice of men. Both were
scrawny, dressed in rags and broken flip flops, and my instinct was they would be more of
a hindrance than a help. 'They look like criminals,' I told Boston, who only shrugged. The
taller man, whose name was Selim, had a lame eye and scars across his face. The other,
shorter, had a broken nose and seemed to be permanently drunk. 'They're the best we've
got,' Boston declared, and we started the day's walk.
There was no path that day. The river wound its way through national park land, the
Kimisi Game Reserve, and though we were not supposed to walk here without permissions
and rangers as guides, there had been no officials on duty in Rusumo and we decided to go
ahead regardless. As we walked, despite the dark looks from our porters - who muttered
to each other constantly in Swahili - the Africa I knew and loved stretched out in every
direction. The river snaked through complete and utter wilderness - forest savannah as far
as the eye could see, so thick and green that, from the escarpment above Rusumo, it looked
impenetrable. Tall elephant grass and spiny acacia trees covered the hillsides. There were
elephants here, hippos too. Boston took great joy in pointing out their spoor during the day.
At Rusumo we had picked up a goat, but the animal was almost as obstinate as the port-
ers and refused to be led. Taking it in turns to carry the brute, we followed the widening
