Driving to Dar Es Salaam

After staying at (what amounted to) a farm-turned-campsite, we finally were on our last stretch of drive to Dar Es Salaam.

It was great to finally be in a real city with people all around us, instead of the isolated places we’d been staying the past few nights. It was also nice to finally get out of that freaking truck for a good few days.

We stopped at a shopping mall (or, the African version of one anyway) to get money, use the internet, go grocery shopping, whatever we had to do. There was a little kids section with someone in the funniest, funniest mickey-mouse costume ever (clearly fake, clearly put together by someone who had never seen the mouse other than in a 50s photo.

Our campsite was a 2 minute ferry ride away on a beach just outside of the main part of Dar. Dar is very much an international city, with the largest variety of ethnicities and backgrounds of any city we’ve been in so far.

Our campsite was…ok. It was certainly better than some we’ve stayed at, and had a nice bar, but the beach was crappy the first day because of far too much seaweed.

Kaitlin, Laura (a tripmate) and I decided to go into the main city on our full day in Dar. Well, I didn’t have much a choice. Lake Malawi gave me a horrible, horrible fungal ear infection that was easily, 100% without a doubt the worst pain I have ever, EVER experienced.

We went to an Ear and Throat specialist on a weekend. Our trip leader said he was supposed to be the best in the country. We pulled up to this tiny Dar village, and the clinic was in this run down metal-sheet-roofed shack that had an incredibly ridiculous soap opera playing on the TV waiting room.

To start things off, there was a huge wait, at least 20+ people. Our leader went to the reception and said a few words in Swahili. Apparently it was to see if I could get my wait time down (we had all day, so no real rush). I sat patiently and waited. When the door to the office opened (notice that I’ve only been here for a few minutes), a little 9 year old girl sprung up thinking it was her turn, only to have “Jason Aul?” called out. I felt so embarrassed, and the girl looked so sad. But this happens everywhere, white people or simply westerners get called in first, even in places that are entirely 100% run by locals, just because they assume they are guaranteed to pay.

My right ear was completely closed, and the doctor (trained in the US, studied in the US, and literally the go-to ear and throat guy for Tanzania) had to jam a huge thing of medicinal cotton into my ear to make an opening. Worst. Pain. Ever. And it had to sit there for 24 hours. Great. This man worked at the hospital during the week, and had this private clinic on weekends. At least I felt he knew what he was doing…

I was given penicillin and a fungal pill (the next day, after the cotton was removed…) for the infection and eardrops for the pain. It was horrible.

At least I only had a few more days until I could shave again.

We wondered around the city (just the 2 girls and myself) and went to the National Museum of Tanzania, which was pretty small and not kept that well, to the point where million year old fossils were just sitting out in the open for anyone to touch. They had a small memorial for the US Embassy blast that happened years earlier, and cars owned by previous presidents, a short history of the country and of humans in Tanzania, and a section dedicated to the natural beauty and wildlife (and tribal life) of Tanzania. 40 million people and far too much space in the country.

We headed back to the campsite afterwards. On the ferry, Laura was followed by a creepy old man who was drinking some nice booze, propositioned to give us a cab ride back to the hotel and hang out with us…well, mostly her. I stood between them to make talk, claiming they were my wives, and pretending I only spoke French, and barely any English. He said “oh, I know some French!” but to my luck, didn’t speak a word of it (and I doubt he knew a word, anyway). We hastily ran off the ferry (he kept following us) and jumped in a cab out of his reach.

Back to the campsite we go.