DAY 1
I never dreamed about it, never thought about it, could never imagine. But still, so it happened that I begin this report on my very first trip to Black Africa. I was convinced by my son to join a group of motorcyclists on a 10-day run through Tanzania, considered one of the most fascinating countries on the continent. I, however, am not on a motorcycle like my son and grandson, but riding in the accompanying jeep.
And so we are flying. With an Ethiopian airline, first to Addis Ababa and then directly to Kilimanjaro Airport. I’m sure that for most readers, this word makes their travel hearts beat a little faster. During the flights, we were served full meals—even on the second, a mere two-hour flight. From the airfield we were taken to a rather decent hotel in Arusha, a grim dump yet a major tourist center. Dinner was top-notch. Beer too. Tomorrow, we hit the road.
DAY 2
Early rise, breakfast. Decent, though a bit underwhelming for a hotel whose rooms cost $60–70. Unexpectedly, the lentils turned out to be very tasty—reminding me of the Israeli “mach” (mung beans). Late departure: the riders had to get their motorcycles and refuel, which took time. And then the cavalcade sets off, trailed by an escort vehicle which, aside from suitcases, carries also the author of these lines.
We break away from endless Arusha into the wild, and our rendezvous with Africa begins. There’s a lot of greenery: recent rains, held back by a mountain range from reaching further north into Kenya, have done their job. Countless umbrella trees, reminding those in our Arava, Israeli dryland savanna, but much bigger. Entire groves of cacti standing like a “normal” forest, trunks covered with genuin-like bark. More and more, tall dark figures in traditional attire appear on our path: the Maasai.
We ride through the lands of this famous pastoralist tribe whose sole occupation is raising cows, goats, and sheep. Everything else they buy from neighboring tribes. All children—and sometimes also adults—wave at us, and at stops they come closer, hoping perhaps to earn or beg for a little money.
And then the first animals appear: giraffes, zebras, a mother wildebeest with her calf. They are rather far away, so it’s hard to capture them on camera. A fox darts by; impala antelopes graze. We pass traditional clay houses with thatched roofs characteristic for the tribe. In the patriarch’s family, there can be up to ten wives, living in their own little dwelling, arranged in a circle.
At the center of this circle stands the house of the patriarch. There is a shortage of men here, leading to the formation of such families. At a 10-by-10 ratio, the head of the family can have up to a hundred children, who start taking part in the family’s daily chores from a very young age.
Generally, they either don’t allow you to take a selfie or, otherwise, demand, “Money!” They gladly collect empty bottles since they don’t have anything to put the milk in. An old man approaches, shakes my hand, says something with a smile. The surreal feeling of the moment lingers. It’s as if you’ve leaped into a screen of a National Geographic film.
Two punctures are quickly fixed by the mechanic accompanying our group. The support vehicle stalls, but our skillful driver revives it, and the journey continues. We enter a nature reserve, and all our passport numbers are recorded. Then we proceed accompanied by a ranger armed with a rifle. On the way, we stop at a rural market to buy supplies, as we are going to spend the night in tents out in the wild.
At last, we arrive at our destination and begin preparing dinner. Over the campfire, huge chunks of meat are grilled, the guys tease each other, exchange memories of previous trips: Rwanda, South Africa. Tomorrow promises an “animal day.” The camp settles into quiet. Night.
DAY 3
The day was devoted to visiting the Maasai Mara reserve, where the Maasai tribe lives and all kinds of wildlife roam. After a snack and a quickly gulped coffee – off we went. And over coffee, the group sang to me היום יום הולדת (something like the Hebrew version of “Happy Birthday to You!”): today I have entered the final two‑digit decade of my life.
Everything around is unreal, unfamiliar, and extraordinary. As one commenter on Day 2 report rightly noted: “It’s like National Geographic.” The sensation is strange at first, but you gradually get used to it. There were herds of zebras, solitary, sorrowful wildebeests—the old ones cast out from the herd. Giraffe necks towered above. In the distance, a small troop of monkeys dashed by. A lone elephant allowed me to come relatively close, but then I got a rebuff for approaching it: “If it chases you, you won’t be able to flee.”
A large herd of wildebeest appears. The lions are nowhere to be seen; to catch a glimpse of them, you need to be out there as early as six o’clock—later, when the heat begins, they hide in the tall grass. Mostly, you admire the animals from a distance: if you try to get closer, they move away, and you only see them from behind. Maasai children carry bundles of firewood. “If we go towards them, they’ll run away, but they’re not afraid of lions. They live in harmony with them,” our driver tells us. We were lucky—he answered many of our questions about the customs and life of the Maasai tribe. It was incredibly fascinating.
Occasionally, the tall, lean figures of the locals—members of one of the two Tanzanian tribes that almost completely reject civilization—can be seen. The other tribe speaks with clicks. It would be interesting to see them as well. Photographing people is difficult: either they do not want to be photographed, or, more often (especially the children) it is made clear that it shouldn’t be done without some compensation.
We leave the lands of the Maasai tribe, and everything changes dramatically, as if cut off: the wild animals and the Maasai’s clay huts disappear, replaced by increasing stretches of emerald greenery, different buildings, and new faces.
Here lives the Chaga tribe, to which our nice driver Vincent belongs. He speaks very good English and is planning to leave for Poland for a few years, where he has already worked as a mechanic for a year and a half.
By the way, he told us that Maasai men are quite popular with European women, who marry them and take away to their countries.
A little more road (hooray, asphalt!), and we enter a real, dense forest filled with unfamiliar species of coniferous trees. The road climbs steadily; after cresting above 2000 meters, we enter Kilimanjaro National Park. Just a bit more, and we arrive at our overnight stop.
The area is well-maintained, more familiar to our civilization-spoiled eyes, with individual houses scattered about. Tired riders are dismounting, and I too tumble out of the car, a bit dazed from fatiguе. The rain has passed and it’s gotten colder. But inside the house, it’s warm! I have recovered a bit, and there’s still plenty of time until the long-awaited dinner, so I’m hurrying to share my impressions with you.
DAYS 4, 5
The fourth day started off well, with a descent from the foothills of Kilimanjaro after spending the night at what was, so far, the best hotel on our route, accompanied by delicious food (a rarity). However, complications soon began. The motorcyclists set off on a challenging mountain route, significantly complicated by yesterday’s light rainfall. The result was several crashes, one of which with an injury requiring a trip to the hospital. The motorcycle was repaired, and the rider have only sustained bruises, but the next day the poor guy had to stay in the hotel.
All this significantly delayed our departure on the fifth day. Those traveling by car first of all headed to the market and shops to stock up on provisions, since that day’s meal was planned to be outdoors. An interesting detail: the driver accompanying us wouldn’t let us do all the shopping from one vendor. After buying one or two items, he would say, “We should also buy from the other mama.” That was how he referred to the women vendors at the market.
After a long descent through the subtropical forest, we found ourselves in a vast lowland and on the way to a meeting and overnight stay with another branch of the Maasai tribe, having its own unique traditions and with a more lenient attitude toward civilization and outsiders. On the way to the tribe’s dwelling, we were met by the “meeting organizer” who led us to a lake where animals come to drink.
Soon a group of elephants appeared. They would retreat into the bushes at every unfamiliar sound, but eventually, they approached the water and began to drink, then splash themselves with water. Soon they left, but another group appeared, coming toward us—hiding behind the car—as close as about forty meters. We froze, trying not to scare them, exhilarated by our first encounter with real Life, so much in contrast to the ersatz version we have transformed it into through our headlong progress and our excessive pretensions that have turned into vices. It was hard to believe that this was happening to us.
No more animals appeared. We were told that rhinos also come here, but later in the evening. After a rather long drive, we finally arrived at our destination. We were greeted with touching warmth, and the 103-year-old elder of the clan welcomed me with a handshake—perhaps seeing a fellow elder in me.
Then, after discussing our sleeping arrangements (the entire group opted for sleeping in the open air instead of the small huts), mattresses were brought out for us. Volunteers prepared salads and a few other dishes, and everyone gathered around the fire where the meat was being cooked. Our shawarma experts taught the local men how to slice off the cooked layers from the roasting meat, thus making an Israeli contribution to the progress of the Maasai tribe.
After a delicious dinner, the local youth entertained us with their traditional games—high jumps accompanied by rhythmic chanting and stomping. They were having fun, and we could hardly believe our eyes that this was happening to us in real life. Then, we treated them to candies and watermelon, which they happily accepted, and returned to our campsite, where the younger children watched curiously the big white men and a woman preparing for sleep.
And now, it’s almost midnight. The full moon is shining, the cries of unknown animals echo in the distance, everyone is long asleep—except for me, working away to finish my report.
Good night.
