Musoma

Thursday, September 1, 2005

In the wee hours before dawn this morning, I wandered out of my tent across the beach to the toilet area. A man sat in one of the plastic beach- chairs, cradling a rifle laid across his lap. He nodded to me as I walked by in my pyjamas. I presume he must have been an armed guard for the camp-site. At least I hope so.

When we opened our tent-flap this morning we looked out to see sunlight glistening on the water. It's nice to wake up to a view like that.

I took some pictures of some of the birds fishing along the beach in the early morning light: ibises, herons, and egrets. Off in the distance a traditional dhow boat sailed by.

It was a beautiful morning and I enjoyed my breakfast of French toast (eggy-bread to the British among us), syrup, bacon, and coffee immensely.

Poor Jen was not having as good a morning as me unfortunately. She was very sick to her stomach all last night, and felt pretty awful this morning too. She is the first one to get sick on our truck (and hopefully the last). We are all very careful about our drinking water and washing our hands and dishes with Dettol.

Wayne thinks that she might be reacting to her Malarone (her daily malaria medication) . She took it on an empty stomach last night and washed it down with a beer. Jeff's mom is chiding herself because she is a nurse she felt that she let Jen do that.

After leaving Tembo Beach, we headed back into the town of Musoma. We had an hour or two to explore before we could exchange our money so after our stint on truck duty, Jeff and I wandered into the town.

Musoma is not a tourist-oriented town and we were advised that the local town-folk would probably not appreciate having their photo taken, so to be respectful of that. Therefore I refrained from taking pictures down at the busy waterfront because it was bustling with people.
There was a lot of activity down at the harbour around the beached fishing-boats: people mending nets, painting boats, selling fish, and just sitting around chatting. We spoke to some local women in bright headscarves to try and identify the tiny, tiny salted fish they were selling heaped up in big round flat baskets.

"The fish?" they said, nodding, "They are tiny, tiny fish." Heh, that much I knew already, but thank-you.

Although I refrained from taking pictures where there were people, I did manage to snap the photos of some local chickens who posed nicely for me by baskets and under tables.

Speaking of non-peopled photography subjects, I laughed to discover later that both Jeff's mom and I had taken a picture of the same store-front, a shop that sold toilets and other plumbing supplies. I had taken my photo while the store was closed and so had photographed the painted outer-wall, and she had taken her picture later when the toilet shop opened for business.

We walked up a block or so from the waterfront along the dirt streets, and wandered into the narrow passage-ways of the market. There were rows and rows of wooden stalls crammed with produce and hung with all manner of goods: baskets, brooms, tools, clothing, and food-stuffs. It immediately reminded me of the maze-like medinas of Morocco, especially the way spices and beans were displayed in tall barrels and baskets with a little wooden price sign stuck into the display.

We made a friend in Musoma's market.

His name was Ruta Ntongani and he was a short and cheerful peanut-seller who spoke very good English. We started off discussing the merits of the different kinds of peanuts he sold, but after we bought half a kilo from him, we got into a longer conversation.

We ended up exchanging addresses,and he asked us if we'd take his photo and send it to him (which we did). So we ended up with a photograph of a person in Musoma after all.

Ruta seemed to be in his twenties. He had no wife or children, but his brother ran a similar market-stall nearby. He told us his father was dead, but his mother lived in a village further north in Tanzania.

"It's very pretty up there", he told us, "And you should see the animals leaping around! I could've taken you there, but I'm sure sure you didn't plan for it on this visit!" He laughed easily, showing a lot of white teeth.

Before leaving Musoma, we exchange fifty U.S. dollars for Tanzania shillings, and stock up on snacks and drinks at the money-changer's grocery. She must get a lot of store business this way. This is our last stop before the Serengeti.